


Backpfeifengesicht

by Samirant



Series: the nonsense 'verse [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Chekhov’s Fist, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Found Family, Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020, Minor Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Modern Westeros, offscreen and doomed Jaime/Other Woman, unconscionable abuse of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/pseuds/Samirant
Summary: Backpfeifengesicht(German) n. a face badly in need of a fistSee pictured: Jaime Lannister
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: the nonsense 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2081286
Comments: 189
Kudos: 517
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	Backpfeifengesicht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brynnmck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/gifts).



> For the prompt: Jaime and Brienne run into each other unexpectedly while on vacation

Everyone was in agreement: though graduation meant they could no longer be a study group, that didn't mean their little family wouldn’t remain firmly found. They might be going their separate ways, to different corners of the world, but neither would they allow geography to have any bearing on their deep, forged-by-fire friendship. 

Tyrion Lannister was heading back to the Westerlands to finagle himself into his father’s company; his cousin Joy Hill was going too, though with far less outlandish goals. Sansa Stark was heading to Winterfell, Renly Baratheon to Essos, Margery Tyrell to Highgarden and Brienne Tarth to the Stormlands. 

But first and foremost? A post college celebration in Dorne. 

“These are my people!” Tyrion spread his arms wide, shaking them triumphantly. The clanging sounds of slot machines, the _ding ding ding_ of successful pulls and gleeful shouts over winning hands were immediately dazzling. The broad smile on Tyrion’s face didn’t disappear for the entirety of their first day on the Dornish Strip. 

Sansa may have called herself the caretaker of the group, but Brienne was the muscle, both literally and figuratively. She made sure to stay by Tyrion’s side as they hopped from casino to casino, well aware that inebriated pleasure seekers could easily take advantage of her small-statured friend. That’s why she was the first to know that:

“Jaime’s coming!” 

Tyrion nearly fell onto Brienne’s lap; she was playing craps and helped him settle into the chair at her side, listening closely when Tyrion advised a bet. She didn’t have the tranquil face for poker -- that was Margaery, all the way. Renly was making a killing at blackjack a couple tables over, but Brienne had floundered there. Tyrion was more than happy to help at her current game and it was after a few rounds that he came up for air and repeated, “Jaime’s coming, did I say?”

“You did,” Brienne said distractedly. She put her tokens on black, hoping it was a safe bet. Tyrion made a wiggling motion with his hand and she moved them over to red instead and won the next round. “I thought he bailed on you again, like always.”

“For someone who has never met my brother, you have a very poor impression of him,” Tyrion observed.

“I have the impression you gave me. I could have formed my own if he ever bothered to show up when he said he would or stuck around at graduation long enough to say hello,” Brienne replied. Tyrion only grunted, but she was fluent in his sound effects. That grunt meant he knew she was right, but wasn't willing to say. 

She gathered her chips and watched as Tyrion started in her stead, explaining along the way. “No fault of his, I assure you, it’s the damned girlfriend that always changes his plans. Or, shall I say, with _great_ pleasure, the ex-girlfriend.”

“You’re joking.” Brienne paused in separating her chips into matching denominations. Their whole group had been privy to all sorts of dramatic retellings that came courtesy of Jaime Lannister and the supposed great love of his life. It had never sounded like a healthy relationship to her, but that wasn’t for Brienne to say out loud. “That can’t be right.”

“Just as he said, I assume, when he found her in bed with someone else.” It’d be for the best that Tyrion not sound so delighted about it; better he got it out of his system before Jaime arrived, Brienne thought to herself. “Packed a bag and he’s on his way here, ready to drown his sorrows and partake in the wonders of life that he’s woefully denied himself these last several years.”

“Poor guy,” Brienne murmured. She and her ex hadn’t been together a fraction as long, but it had still been horrible to find him kissing someone else during the last semester of school. 

“I assure, there is nothing about my family that can be misconstrued as poor. This is a victory, he is free!” Tyrion stood on his chair, commanding the attention of everyone at the table. “Drinks on me, my fellow revelers! Let us rejoice in my brother breaking loose of his shackles!”

“The drinks are already free,” Brienne reminded him.

Tyrion frowned and gave a pert nod. “As they should be.”

Time passed and Brienne frankly forgot about their incoming partygoer, the constant lights and noise of the casino around them making the hours meld together and everyone less mindful of itineraries. She’d only just managed to coax a giddy, drunken Tyrion into a nap on one of the beds in her hotel room when Joy found them, lugging her older cousin along. 

Brienne made shushing noises at the door, pretending to be more concerned with Tyrion’s rest than of the fact that Jaime Lannister was distractingly handsome. Unjustly good looking. Painfully _pretty_. The photos Tyrion had shared over the years didn’t do him an ounce of justice.

“He’s, uh…” she drifted off and spread her arm toward Tyrion’s face-down, starfished form. 

“Of course,” Jaime muttered. 

Brienne blinked at him and Joy laughed nervously. It reminded Brienne of when she learned of Joy’s relation to Tyrion, how different they seemed from the beginning, with Tyrion’s cocky brashness is direct opposition to Joy’s sweet-natured fretfulness. Before this, it was anyone’s guess where Jaime fell on that wide spectrum, but with two mere words and an unmistakably caustic tone, Brienne was certain he wouldn’t land anywhere good. 

Jaime said nothing else to either Brienne or his cousin. He tossed his bag onto the bed next to a still-unconscious Tyrion and said, “Tell him to call me when he’s up.”

Then he sailed out the door, his lack of goodbye matching his just-as-absent greeting. Brienne scowled at the empty doorway, almost missing Joy’s, “Gosh, I haven’t ever seen him so upset.”

Right. Brienne ordered herself to stand down. She’d forgotten what had brought Jaime to them and, just as quickly, felt a vague solidarity with him. No matter how long the relationship, being cheated on was disheartening and demoralizing and -- well, she could give him a break for not being at his best. 

“Renly’s texting,” Joy informed her, passing on Brienne’s phone. “He said that he’s been left to his own devices and it’ll be no one’s fault but yours if he ends up married to a stranger by morning.”

“Why do I have to rein him in? Where are Margaery and Sansa?” Brienne protested. On second thought, she might not want to know the answer to that question.

Joy shrugged, then tilted her head. “Do you really want that on your conscience, though?”

Giving up, Brienne headed to the door and warned, “You’ll have to stick with Tyrion.”

“On second thought, I can trade!” Joy called out, but Brienne let the door shut between them.

She found Renly quickly enough, pulling him away from a willing partner that she was well aware Renly would regret once the whisky goggles came off -- not a call she’d make on her own, but legitimately based on the Portfolio of Do Not Want he’d put together in anticipation of the trip. Drunk Renly, however, wanted company and so Brienne drank. And drank. And drank. 

It was a blurry panorama of time later, once Sansa reappeared and took Renly off her hands, that Brienne went to the bar in hopes of procuring something -- anything -- nonalcoholic and found Jaime once more.

From the looks of it, he’d gone straight from the room to the bar and set up residence. He was a surly, glowering pile of wretchedness in one corner, glaring at anyone who entertained the notion of taking the empty seat at his side. On any other day, Brienne would have left him - a relative stranger - to his wallowing, but an untold amount of imbibed Pentoshi Slammers stirred up a noble benevolence within her, a little voice that said they had something in common and what good were her broad shoulders if they weren’t offered as a place to rest a weary, heartbroken brow?

Pentoshi Slammers were of the deepest depths of the Seven Hells and she would regret them forever. 

“I’ve been where you are,” Brienne told him after hauling herself onto the stool. 

Jaime poked at a lime wedge in his tumbler with a stirring stick and didn’t answer. 

“You think… you _think_ that you know someone and then they just-- and you wonder, did I see it coming?” She was _killing_ this. He was going to feel so much better once he saw that she was willing to listen. “It’s a mess. A whole mess, it’s so messed up. But we’re better off, in the end. To know and, and move on. Moving on is so important. I can help, if you want.”

She looked at him, expecting a timid smile, a _wow, you do get it, don’t you?_ and found a sneer instead. 

“Tyrion told you, of course he fucking did,” Jaime said flatly. 

“I’ve been there, I get it. Five months, down the drain in a second,” Brienne replied, grateful that he’d caught on despite her gibbering attempt at camaraderie. She’d later bemoan her obliviousness to Margaery, who would laugh her ass off. “It really hurt, you know? It’s like, how do you deal with so much hurt? I found that letting someone help made me feel so much better.”

“Five months. _Five months_?” Jaime barked out an unamused laugh. “I’ve been with her for half my life and you think you know how I’m feeling right now?”

“Well, I…” Brienne stopped, uncertain.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jaime said in a low, seething tone. “Whatever little pissant that pawed at you for a matter of months is in no way equal to what I’ve lost. And you can tone down the big eyes, gods. If I were up for a revenge fuck, _which I am not_ , I’d find someone that she’d actually consider a threat.”

Brienne started back and she felt the blood flood her face at his insinuation and insult. “No, that’s not what I was-- I was only trying to--”

“Whatever, just leave me alone.” He picked up his phone to check it, his whole frame drooping at the sight of the empty screen. “Whatever you’re trying to pull, I’m not interested.”

“Well, I’m not interested either,” Brienne shot back. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Nice, right,” Jaime huffed. “Try it with someone else.”

“Maybe I will!”

“Good fucking luck!”

Brienne charged off, uttering _asshole_ under her breath. Embarrassment snuck in a few minutes later, once her fury had faded enough to rewind the conversation, to unearth where he may have gotten the idea that her intentions were less-than-altruistic. Then she just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. 

She found Margaery in her room, her friend tellingly rumpled and mouth smudged with lipstick that Brienne recognized, but not from Margaery’s signature choices. It was on the tip of Brienne's tongue to chastise her, as Margaery had made her promise to do, but instead the whole sorry story came out in a surge of indignation. 

“It’s not funny!” The alcohol she’d consumed made her whiny, though Margaery’s peals of laughter rolled over anything she tried to say for quite a while. “I was trying to be supportive, not get into his pants.”

Margaery wiped tears from her eyes, her giggles ever persistent. “At what point, in four years of knowing Tyrion, did you ever think a Lannister would accept sympathy from a perfect stranger?”

“Joy’s not like that,” Brienne sulked. “And Tyrion lets me--”

“Joy is the black sheep of that family by merit of being raised by a basically normal mom, the batshit Lannister genes barely grazed her. And how are you forgetting the months it took for Tyrion to stop being suspicious of any and every kind gesture we ever made, even just lending him a _pen_?” Margaery shook her head. “Jaime’s an asshole, for sure, but you can’t possibly be surprised by that.”

Brienne crawled onto the bed and pulled a pillow over her head. “This is so humiliating. What do I even say next time I see him?”

“I vote nothing, but it looks like you won’t have to worry about it,” Margaery answered. Brienne pulled the pillow down to give her a questioning look. “Tyrion texted. Looks like it only took one phone call from her and Jaime went running back.”

“He _left_?” Was it so shocking, though? Brienne thought it over, of Jaime’s downtrodden expression as he checked his phone. “After what she did?”

“You could say the heart wants what it wants.” Margaery shook her head. “The batshit genes are just as much to blame, though.”

“Good riddance,” Brienne muttered and hid under the pillow again. 

****************************************

It took nearly a year of planning and careful scheduling, but at last all of them were able to cobble a week together for a road trip around Westeros. After the debauchery of Dorne, Sansa had insisted on something far more wholesome, less scattered, more _sober_.

Brienne heard the distinct sound of clinking bottles in Tyrion’s bags and decided to let Sansa handle that particular battle. 

They met up at Riverrun, where Margaery had procured a luxury SUV that would take them on a circuitous route around Middle Westeros, with a small detour up to the Vale, which none but Sansa had ever visited. They ooh-ed and ah-ed at the sights like any of other the tourists, following after the bored guide and taking innumerable photos, variations of which they shared in their oversized and rambling group text. 

Brienne figured, however, that no other group ever had a small skirmish right next to the Moon Door, resulting in a stash of wine flying through to its soaring end. Sansa was supremely satisfied with Tyrion’s bitter defeat. Margaery snapped a picture for posterity and shared it post haste. 

They were heading back to the Kingsroad, just past the Crossroads Inn when Tyrion looked up from his phone in the front passenger seat and drew out, “Sooo…”

Brienne immediately went on guard -- she knew that tone. 

“I have good news and bad news,” he began.

Renly booed from the farthest rear seat. 

“Bad news is that we need to take a detour,” Tyrion continued. “The good news is that we’ll gain another driver and look! This way we can see the biggest rocking chair in the Crownlands! It’s fashioned like the Iron Throne and everything!”

“What happened?” Margaery was the first to cut the bullshit to ask; Brienne and Sansa traded a dismayed look from the middle seat. Another passenger would put a squeeze on their already snug quarters. Brienne was so caught up in mentally reconfiguring their belongings that she missed the first half of Tyrion’s explanation. It was only when he mentioned his brother by name that she sputtered and hoisted the upper half of her body between the two front seats. “Wait, _what?_ ”

“Damned idiot is stranded in Maidenpool. He and the lady in question took a romantic weekend away that -- quite predictably -- soured and she took off with the car. He needs our help, Brienne, who are we to deny him?”

“Last time I offered to help, he thought I was trying to sleep with him,” Brienne grumbled. She bounced back into her seat and felt Joy give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder from behind. She’d been mortified by her cousin’s behavior when Margaery recounted it for everyone on behalf of a hungover Brienne; no matter of apologies or claims that it was unlike Jaime to react that way would make Brienne eager to see him again. 

“Maybe he’ll take you up on it this time!” Tyrion went straight-faced at Brienne’s heavy glare. “Okay, okay, not funny yet. Fine.”

“It will never be funny, that was humiliating,” Brienne told him, likely for the thousandth time.

“But is it enough for you to deny help to a stranded, cuckolded man?” 

“Cuckold--” Brienne wearily sighed. “It happened again?”

“It will happen for all of eternity, not that he’s willing to see it just yet. So we should take this opportunity to swoop in and save him like a maiden, show him what inherent goodness looks like!” Tyrion paused. “Renly can fake it, at least.”

Renly pretended to gasp. “I heard that!” 

“Please, Brienne?” Joy pleaded. “I know he was rude and embarrassed you, but he’s not a bad guy, you just saw him on a bad day.”

“How did this come down to me?” Brienne groaned again. “Fine. _Fine._ Let’s go get him.”

So they did, driving more than three hours out of their way and shelving the prospect of seeing the God’s Eye; Brienne was the most disappointed over that, but she’d already said yes and couldn’t take it back. They picked Jaime up at a gas station in a town nearby the resort he’d been staying at with his girlfriend. Tyrion didn’t say, but Brienne surmised from Jaime’s scruffy, unkempt appearance and lack of bags that he’d been waiting in the same place since he’d first contacted Tyrion. It softened her, against her better judgment, but also made her want to take Jaime aside to lecture him on the fact that no decent person abandoned another at a shady sak-n-pak. 

She wouldn’t do it, of course, but they would still have to get past their single, horrifying conversation. Brienne unfolded herself from the SUV, intent on giving a neutral greeting as she passed to pick up snacks from inside the store. 

Instead, she heard, “Holy hells, you’re tall.”

Brienne stopped, her eyebrows high at the surprise in his voice. “Hello, Jaime.”

“I, uh, yeah…” He looked puzzled. “Have we met?”

She waited for the punchline, his mocking laugh. When Jaime continued to look innocent, she slowly said, “I’m Brienne. We… met in Dorne.”

“Oh.” Jaime grimaced. “That day’s kind of fuzzy. To be honest, I only remember the plane ride and I’m not even sure if that was to or from home.”

“Uh-huh.” Brienne eyed him with suspicion. If he was lying, he was extraordinarily good at it. Then again, she’d watched Tyrion tell his fair share of ribald and completely manufactured tales for years now, his targets none the wiser. 

Still, if Jaime wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, who was she to dredge up the past? She gave him a feeble wave and continued on. It was a relief to find that she’d been assigned the very back seat on the next stretch of their journey and she took a nap until their next stop. When she woke, though, Brienne learned that her luck had run its course. 

Jaime took the wheel and Brienne the position as navigator, pulling out her phone to figure out a shortcut that would take them around King’s Landing and make up for the time lost in picking him up. Though he set his cell on the dashboard holder and frequently glanced at it, they passed the first hour without incident, with Brienne imparting succinct instructions from her own and Jaime following them.

The steady hum of the road lulled most everyone to sleep and Brienne chalked it up to the sudden quiet that Jaime asked, “You do know you guys could have just flown from place to place, right? Where are we even headed?”

“There’s a museum near Blackwater Rush that Sansa wants to check out.” Brienne slid her seat back, glad that Tyrion was behind her, giving her room to stretch out. It, however, gave Margaery and Sansa a prime opportunity to cuddle together, something Brienne knew they’d been trying to avoid this time around. “She’s the one who set up the stops. I think they’re places she used to go with her family.”

“Just a museum, no rafting? Be a hell of a lot more exciting,” Jaime said under his breath. He cut his eyes to the dash and frowned. 

“It was Sansa’s turn to plan,” Brienne repeated. “She wanted us to take a trip together, emphasis on togetherness, not class five rapids.”

“Sounds like you had more fun in Dorne last time. From what Tyrion told me.”

Brienne stilled. “What exactly did he say?”

“General mayhem and shenanigans, nothing specific.” He glanced at her. “Doesn’t seem your style, though.”

“What do you know about my style?” She heard the tension in her voice and purposefully leaned back, propping her feet on the dash in hopes of appearing more casual than she felt. 

It didn’t make a difference. Jaime sounded decidedly grumpier when he said, “Nothing, geez, calm down, I’m just making conversation.”

“Well, for your information, telling a woman to calm down does absolutely nothing of the sort, it just pisses them off instead.”

“Well, when I see a woman, I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaime volleyed back. Brienne gaped at him and Jaime blew out a noisy breath. “That was… that wasn’t--”

Brienne glowered at him. “That wasn’t what you meant to say? Because you sure as all hells said it easily enough.”

“Seven hells, woman, are you this contentious all the time? And will you take your damn feet off the dash? They’re fucking distracting.”

In a spurt of childishness, Brienne flexed her feet against the hard surface, the tips of her shoes tapping against the windshield. Jaime groaned and looked away again. Relishing her petty victory, Brienne announced, “Joy said you weren’t this bad all the time. Goes to show how much she knows.”

“Joy thinks the best of everyone, all the time. It’s an affliction. What would she say if she knew that you tried to get me into bed the first time we met?”

Brienne gasped a Renly level gasp. It was near _Sansa_ level. “You remember!”

“Hard to forget such drunken bumbling.” Jaime chuckled darkly. “I was going to give you an out, but you proved just as delightful as last time, so what’s the point? Has that ever worked on anyone else?”

“Of course not! I mean, it wasn’t-- ugh, you are a _jerk_. I was trying to be helpful and give you a shoulder to cry on, not…. not…”

“Offering to bang one out to make me feel better?”

Brienne half-pretended to gag. “You are the worst. I cannot believe Tyrion thinks the world of you, the gods know you’ve let him down often enough that he should know better.”

Jaime appeared to be winding himself up for a vicious rebuttal when his phone lit up, the caller’s name showing as DO NOT ANSWER. He hesitated and then flicked the red button to decline the call. Brienne acted as if she didn’t see it, instead crossing her arms and staring out the passenger side window. Neither of them were apparently willing to stand down and it wasn’t until a little while later that Margaery woke from her nap and asked if they were ready to stop for dinner that either of them spoke again.

His phone had gone off at least three more times in the interim, Jaime taking longer and longer before cutting off the ringing each time. It thus came as no surprise that Jaime pulled Tyrion aside when they made their last stop for the night, at a small motel outside of Blackwater Rush. It was even less of a surprise when a town car pulled up to the motel in the morning while everyone shared a sub-par complimentary breakfast of soggy waffles and generic cereal. 

Tyrion tried to hide his disappointment, but Brienne made no effort to mask her withering glare while Jaime went to everyone to say thanks and goodbye. It was a step up from the last time, but hardly anything worth celebrating. Choosing to avoid him altogether, Brienne mumbled an excuse of checking on their own vehicle and left everyone behind. 

It was useless, seeing as Jaime immediately followed after. 

“Look,” he started and Brienne dropped her head back, pleading at the empty skies for a save. “We got off on the wrong foot--”

Brienne cut him off. “I think we’ve seen enough to form a solid opinion. I know I have.”

“Are you always--” Jaime pinched his lips together and looked back at the waiting car. “I only wanted to ask you to watch out for Tyrion. I know he doesn’t want me to go, but I can’t stay, not when we can work things out.”

“How many times have you used that excuse?” Brienne asked disdainfully. “And don’t think that asking me to be his friend -- which I already am -- absolves you from what you’re doing.”

“And just what am I doing?”

“Getting Tyrion’s hopes up and then leaving him behind for something you think is better when everyone here knows it’s not.”

Jaime went stiff, his voice louder and infuriated. “I think you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I know that you’ve done this time and again, telling Tyrion you’ll meet him over breaks and cancelling last minute or skipping out of his graduation dinner, all for the sake of a woman who has made it clear that she hates your brother or anything that’s not centered around her.”

That clearly didn’t sit well with him at all, but Brienne felt a surge of satisfaction when Jaime paled and demanded, “Who are you to pass judgement on any of this?”

“Nobody,” Brienne answered. “Nobody to you, clearly. I’m just someone who loves Tyrion and doesn’t let anyone dictate my relationship with him. Can you say the same thing about yourself?”

She saw it hit and the doubt filled his face, but for a scant moment. He hardened his expression and said, “Next time you’ve committed more than ten years of your life to someone else, maybe I’ll take your advice under consideration. Then again, considering your sparkling personality, I’m pretty certain that’ll never happen.”

He was halfway across the parking lot when Brienne was finally able to fumble together the words, trying her best not to trip over them when she yelled out, “If you’re committed, what in the hells would you call her?”

There was a slight hitch in Jaime’s step, the only indication that he’d heard her. But then he got in the car, it pulled away and he was gone. 

****************************************

“Bug spray?”

“Check.”

“Back up bug spray?”

“Check, check.”

“Back up-back up bug spray?”

“...Brienne, I think you might have a bug spray problem.” Renly gave her his most disarming grin. It once made her knees weak, but all it did these days was make her want to muss his hair to piss him off. “We have plenty, I promise.”

“You say that now, but I don’t want to hear your whining when you start getting eaten by mosquitos. Those things will find any unprotected patch of skin to draw blood,” Brienne warned him. Renly rolled his eyes, but packed the rest of the bag with the spray she’d been saving for everyone. It was astonishing that he still had more bags than she did, considering he’d flown in from Essos to meet up with her in Storm’s End. 

“When we let you pick the place to make up for missing the God’s Eye, I don’t think any of us thought you’d make us rough it for a straight week,” Renly complained. 

“Says the man with the luxury tent.” Brienne pointed at the package that she’d picked up from the store for him that took up most of her back seat. “It has a generator, Renly. Who uses a _generator_?”

“I am used to a certain level of comfort, you promised no judgement,” Renly said with a sniff. 

They were driving through the Bronzegate entrance of the Kingswood National Park -- leagues away from the point where turning around would have been a viable option -- when Renly took a bracing breath and said, “I should probably tell you something Tyrion asked me to pass on…”

“No.” Brienne automatically shook her head. “Not again, please not again, he cannot possibly have had an emergency for the third year in the row.”

“Not an emergency,” Renly reassured her. “I know we thought it was a one-off, but it seems Jaime really is making an effort with Tyrion, they’ve been spending a lot more time together.”

Brienne growled deep in her throat. It was how she’d responded every time for the last several months when Tyrion wheedled it into a conversation or email, that his older brother was being more attentive than ever. She had to squash down the part of her that felt hopeful, knowing that sooner or later, Jaime Lannister would revert back to his old ways and disappoint her dear friend once more. 

Renly was still speaking. “He’s only going to be with us the first few days anyway, so he won’t be there the entire time. Think you can be on your best behavior?”

“My best behavior?” Brienne gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “My behavior was never the issue.”

“Screaming at him in a motel parking lot would indicate otherwise.”

“I wasn’t screaming--”

“You raised your voice--”

“He was far away!”

Renly chortled. “Oh, this is going to be a fucking blast.”

“I will make you get out and walk,” Brienne threatened.

She didn’t, of course, because not even the gods wanted to learn what Renly could get up to in the middle of the woods without a chaperone. It was a fair warning, though, enough that when all their cars met up at the campsite parking area, Brienne could tool her expression into something far more calm than what she felt when she faced Jaime down once more.

He was just as handsome as ever, damn him, and he played at pleasantries that Brienne tried her best to imitate. She could feel everyone’s eyes on them, waiting for the inevitable showdown. Renly wasn’t even trying to be subtle, he was filming their stilted greeting with his cell and smirked when Brienne made a face at him. 

“All right, get your stuff together, it’ll be a short hike to our site,” Brienne told them all once she pulled away from Jaime’s firm handshake. 

Sansa, for all her prim and proper appearance, was the one Brienne trusted the most to be her second-in-command. Between them, they’d be able to keep everyone alive until the week was out -- even if she felt a little less protective of one person in particular. Still: hikes, fishing and campfires? Not even Jaime Lannister could ruin that for her. 

A quick assessment of everyone’s feet revealed an array of brand new hiking boots, though she’d advised them all to break them in in advance. Joy’s were _pink_. Brienne shook her head, rueing all the oncoming complaints over blisters, when her eyes caught on a pair of boots as well worn as her own. Her eyes followed up nicely muscled legs, up a trim figure in camp-ready clothes, to find Jaime giving her a knowing grin and she jerked her head away, asking if everyone was ready. 

She led the group, Sansa covering the back, and Brienne knew it would happen even before it did. When Jaime walked in step beside her on the narrow trail, she preempted him with, “I wasn’t checking you out.”

“Of course not,” he replied. Smugly. So much damn smugness in three words, her palm itched to smack him away. 

“I wasn’t,” she repeated. “I didn’t expect anyone besides me or Sansa to have any experience with the outdoors, let alone be properly dressed for it.”

“Do I look that soft to you?”

“I don’t know, I don’t look at you if I can help it.”

“Seems like you need a lot of help, then.”

Brienne closed her eyes and scrambled for her rapidly diminishing patience. “Do you need something, Jaime?”

“Nope, just thought I’d say hello.”

“You already did. There’s filmed evidence of it.”

“Yes, but that was so everyone could get proof that we won’t be at one another’s throats. This one is the actual hello.”

“You say that like you don’t feel their eyes on you at this very second.”

He shrugged and leaned in. “But if we speak very quietly, they’ll wonder what we’re discussing. And then I can do this.” He shifted back and loudly announced, “No, Brienne, I will not share your sleeping bag tonight!”

“Oh my gods.” Brienne put on a burst of speed, easily oustripping Jaime when he stopped to laugh, clearly pleased with himself.

It kept happening like that, in every instance where Brienne let her guard slip, content that Jaime had gotten his fill of torturing her, he’d pop up with another innuendo, another needling comment. Whenever, that was, he wasn’t on his satellite phone, wandering off to the periphery of the camp in order to soothe whatever issues his girlfriend was calling about. Despite that, he still threw himself into everything: setting up tents with gusto, lighting campfires like he could do it in his sleep and taping up Margaery’s ankle when she took a near tumble on one of the trails. Margaery only milked it for a couple hours, as opposed to the full week that Brienne would have predicted -- though Renly and Jaime did carry her around piggyback for most of that time. 

Brienne kept a watchful eye on him, mystified as to where this helpful, charming version of Jaime had come from. It was the version of Jaime she originally imagined when Tyrion had waxed on about his wonderful older brother in the early years of their friendship, before Tyrion learned to temper his expectations and pretended to shrug off Jaime’s inattention.

She didn’t expect to figure out the answer, nor did she think Jaime would be the one to give it. And yet. 

The evening of their second full day was a peaceful one. Joy was no longer jumping and screaming at every rustle from the bushes, Renly had learned his lesson and started hoarding bug spray on his person at all times, and Tyrion proved the best at telling hair-raising stories when they gathered around the low burning embers. 

Most everyone had climbed into their tents for the night. Brienne, rather, set a towel out on the nearby riverbank, where the silt was driest and still soft. Her distance from the sputtering campfire made it so that she was in the near total dark, all the better to view the sky and stars above. Laying back to take them in was probably her favorite thing about being out in nature, so much that even though she heard him approaching, she stayed exactly where she was. 

Jaime also spread out a towel, leaving a couple of feet between them: close enough to be on purpose and far enough that he would likely make fun of her if she bothered to comment on it. Brienne didn’t give him the satisfaction of wiggling away for a wider distance or picking up her towel and completely leaving, nor did she speak.

It was a solid ten minutes of silence -- and it felt _good_ to have won -- before Jaime took a deep breath and said, “You picked a good spot.”

“Mmm,” Brienne replied. 

“Something tells me you’ve been here before,” he continued. “You seem like you know the trails pretty well without using the maps.”

Brienne stared upwards, opened her mouth and shut it. Memories of sharing the same space with her father and brother, then just her father, sped through her mind. She hadn’t told anyone, though Sansa might have guessed, but her friend knew better than to poke at that tender spot. Swallowing hard, Brienne replied, “Yeah.”

Whether he caught it or not, Jaime didn’t follow up on the rawness in her voice. Instead, he said, “Neither of us made a great first impression. You know, couple years back.”

She set her jaw and didn’t answer. 

“I’m not… I think things have gone pretty well here, so far. Makes me think we have it in us to work out a truce.”

“You called me strapping enough to give you a piggyback ride after you set Margaery down,” Brienne retorted. “And then managed to convince Joy that I was a bear following after her in the woods and she almost hit me with a branch. How would that constitute as things going _well_?”

“I asked for a truce, I never claimed to be a saint.”

“Just as well, the Seven would laugh until they themselves died if you did.” 

Jaime chuckled softly, startling her. It was warmer, friendlier than she expected. “Suppose you’re right,” he admitted. “Will you hear me out anyway?”

“I’m not leaving, I got here first,” Brienne said stubbornly. 

“I do like a rapturous audience,” Jaime mused. 

“I bet.”

“Tyrion, he,” -- it was so quick, the change in his tone, that Brienne turned her head to look at him. Jaime was nothing more than a vague outline in the dark -- “he wants us to get along. You mean a lot to him.”

“He means a lot to me,” Brienne replied. 

“I get that. I do. He’s been talking about all of you for years and you in particular. Brienne, the most loyal, the most protective, she always has his back, no matter what. That’s why it was so shocking that when I was going through the worst thing in my life, the same Brienne tried to--”

“ _I told you I wasn’t--_ ”

“I know,” Jaime interrupted her. “I get that I misunderstood. That it wasn’t what you meant.”

Brienne deflated, the anger knocked loose from her with Jaime’s roundabout apology. She recognized it for what it was -- gods knew she’d heard a multitude of them from Tyrion for over six years. She gnawed at her lips, let the silence lapse between them for several seconds. “I understand why you reacted the way you did,” she said back, figuring he would decipher her own nonapology. 

“As for last time,” he went on.

Slapping her hands to her face, Brienne groaned. 

“Do you… do you have a little sister? Little brother?” Jaime asked. 

“No” was her answer and with it a quiet hope that he wouldn’t ask anything further in that regard.

“It’s special, it makes you feel special, having someone that looks up to you. I worried about Tyrion when he decided to go to school so far away, he had to field enough abuse from assholes around us at home. Going somewhere new, where I couldn’t follow? He insisted, though.”

Brienne had a creeping suspicion of the point he was trying to make. “Tyrion knows what he wants.”

“He does, yeah. When he first got there, it was bad as I imagined, he called me all the time. Then Joy got involved and he met you, all of you, and things got better.”

“And he needed you less,” Brienne guessed. 

Jaime stayed quiet. 

“He’s always going to need you, you should know that. If I still had my--” Brienne hesitated. “It won’t always look the same, but Tyrion will always want you in his life.”

“As you made very apparent last year,” Jaime replied archly. She heard him let out a deep breath. “I’d convinced myself he didn’t. Or, maybe, that if I couldn’t be his shield anymore, he didn’t have much use for me otherwise. Turns out that when you’ve only really had two people and one of them seems like they’ve moved on, it’s easy to go all in with the other.”

“Ah.” Brienne held back from saying anything more, lest she step straight into another minefield. 

Likely Jaime felt the same, because he didn’t shift from the Tyrion of it all, wryly remarking, “He’s spent pretty much the entire last year informing me how stupid that train of thought was.”

“Did you listen?”

Jaime laughed softly. “It’s slowly sinking in.”

“You’re doing a good job of proving me wrong, if that’s worth anything,” Brienne offered. 

“That is a nice side benefit. Anyway.” Jaime took a moment and she could just imagine the reluctant expression he was making. “Thanks, I guess, for reminding me to get my shit together.”

Brienne smothered a smile and said, as nonchalantly as possible, “No problem.” A few seconds passed and a thought ran through her brain that made her forehead furrow on its way out. “Wait a second, if you and I are okay, why in the hells have you still been an ass to me the last couple days?”

Jaime snickered. “Well, I couldn’t let you get off scot free.”

“You _dick_.”

“It’s fun,” Jaime argued back. “The way you react, it’s like--”

“Son of a bitch,” Brienne said, outraged.

“--like, have you ever had a gigantic zit--”

“ _A zit?_ ”

“--and you know you shouldn’t mess with it, shouldn’t pop it, but the _satisfaction_ of it--”

“What is wrong with you? Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

“--jury’s out on that one, but the popping bit--”

“I AM NOT A ZIT.”

“See! So satisfying!”

Jaime cackled and Brienne popped up on her elbows, staring at his silhouette rolling from side to side on the ground. “I could kill you here. Bury you where they’d never find you.”

“Tyrion would never believe you. And I don’t believe you either,” Jaime replied, his smugness back in full force. “I’ve given you plenty of reasons to beat the shit out of me, but you’re too good for that.”

“I’ve never been more tempted in my life,” Brienne said threateningly. 

“Besides, I could take you,” he swore.

“I highly doubt that, especially when I’m this motivated.”

Jaime laughed again and _damn-him-damn-him-damn-him_ , she wanted to laugh, too. Forcing herself to lay back, Brienne held her arms tightly over her chest, pinching her mouth shut to contain her own amusement. Trying to sound annoyed -- not charmed, never charmed -- she said, “All right, I get it, you think you’re hilarious. Don’t you have other places to be now? Go coo into your phone or something.”

The silence was so sudden that Brienne felt it slam into the pit of her stomach, dark and empty and suffocating. Regret quickly followed and with it the unwelcome idea that she’d liked his laugh, even if it was at her expense. 

She was still warring with that revelation when Jaime distantly said, “Yeah. Maybe.”

Brienne bit her lip again. Try as she might, she couldn’t find a single thing to say aside from a half-formed, nonsensical apology. What in the world was she even sorry for? 

“I should get back. If I stay out here too long, everyone’s going to think one of us is a cuddler.” He said it half-heartedly and Brienne felt wrongfooted all over again, though this time she had the unsettling inkling that it was entirely her fault. “G’night, Brienne.” 

“Good night, Jaime,” Brienne echoed. 

He rose, a dark outline against the starry sky. She waited for one last quip, another apparently-friendly jab; Jaime only shook out his towel and left without another word.

Brienne stayed there for a long time, confused and entirely uncertain as to why. Not even the familiar constellations could help her parse it out and when she went back to her tent, she slept fitfully. The feeling stayed in the back of her mind through the morning and into the afternoon and if she thought that it would pass once Jaime traded back-slapping hugs with anyone willing and departed with a smile that made Renly’s pale in comparison, she was wrong. 

****************************************

Brienne was the last of them to arrive, late in the evening before the wedding. The last minute arrangements and chaos had settled down and she joined Joy, Sansa and Margaery for a nightcap prior to heading to her own hotel room. 

“You saved yourself so much trouble,” Joy informed her. “Everyone makes a big deal about the rehearsal, but all we did was stand around for hours and hours, all so they could tell me exactly how to walk, which I obviously already know.”

Margaery offered her more wine and Joy shook her head. “Enough for me, I think it’s high time I get some sleep. I’m getting married tomorrow, didn’t you know?”

“First I’ve heard it,” Margaery claimed. She and Sansa giggled together, departing soon after. 

Joy watched after them with a sweet, sad smile. “Think that’ll ever work itself out, Brienne?”

“Hard to say.” Brienne gathered the empty wine glasses, carefully placing them in the suite kitchen. “Margaery still likes her freedom too much to settle down and that’s all Sansa wants. It doesn’t always work out, even if we want it to. You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“No,” Joy sighed. “I’m so happy, Brienne. Is it so wrong that I want my friends to be happy, too?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Brienne conceded. “Happiness has a different look on everyone, though.”

“That’s fair.” Joy weaved a small amount on her way to the bedroom and Brienne helped her along, reluctantly grinning when Joy quietly pronounced her the best non-bridesmaid ever, then asked, “Are you sure you don’t want it? The more the merrier!”

“It’s completely okay,” Brienne told her. 

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but you should know that I’d have you up there in a heartbeat if you were all right with it,” Joy insisted. “I can ask one of Harlyn’s cousins to join on the men’s side. Or Jaime! He’s already an usher, we can slide him on over. I’d make sure he behaved long enough to take you on a short trip up and down the aisle.”

Brienne hoped that the dim light of the room covered the heat she felt rush to her cheeks. “Don’t change anything on my account. Besides, I don’t even have a bridesmaid’s dress, I’d stick out like a sore thumb. Even more than usual.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Joy bounced up from the bed just as she sat, darting over the wardrobe to rustle through it and bring out a garment bag. “For you!”

“Joy…”

“No arguments, I’m the bride.” It was rare for her to wield it, the Lannister imperiousness that Tyrion touted so easily and Joy consciously suppressed. This time, though, Joy held out the bag with an excited expression. When Brienne still hesitated, Joy’s face fell slightly. “Please?”

Brienne nodded and took the bag, opening it to reveal a deep green dress. “Oh.”

“It’s the same as Margaery and Sansa’s. So if you did want to join…” Joy saw Brienne’s widened eyes and shook her head. “Either way, you’ll have something lovely to wear.”

“Joy, I’m sorry--”

“It’s okay, Brienne.” Joy hopped up to give her a kiss on the cheek and Brienne smiled despite the guilt. Of all of them, Joy gave everyone the most room to be themselves, never demanding more than they were willing to give. “I want everyone to enjoy tomorrow and I know you wouldn’t as much if I made you stand in front of the sept.”

“I feel like a bad friend,” Brienne mumbled.

“Never,” Joy said. “You’ll still be up there, in my heart.”

Brienne hugged her, bidding Joy a good night and returning to her own hotel room. When she woke in the morning, it wasn’t to her alarm clock, but to a knock at the door, revealing a woman who said she’d been sent by the bride. Thus Brienne spent the first hour of her day gingerly drinking water while the woman fluttered around her, making small alterations to the dress until it fit as flatteringly as possible. It likely wasn’t what Joy intended, but Brienne despaired at the sight she made in the mirror - it was a good fit, and a good color, that wasn’t the issue. 

What Brienne wanted, what she wished she was capable of, was to be completely uncaring of anyone watching. She wanted to be able to say yes to Joy, to agree to stand alongside her in the bridal party, regardless of the whispers she’d invoke with her tall, plodding form, her plain-if-one-was-being-exceedingly-kind visage. She wished she could have done it, instead of doubting herself for the millionth time.

“Do better today,” Brienne told her reflection. “For Joy. For once in your godsdamn life.”

She carried the thought with her throughout the day, making an effort to greet others, to intermingle with the guests before the ceremony. The only time she faltered was when she ducked away from the line formed by the ushers, pretending to not see Jaime with a few other men that were joking around and guiding people to their seats. Brienne went and found her friends again, giving Joy another hug and letting Sansa touch up her makeup when they all got teary at the sight of Joy in her wedding dress. 

It was a lucky break, finding a side door into the sept, and Brienne took a seat, again willing tears away when Joy made her entrance and became a wife. Harlyn seemed like a good guy, as little as Brienne knew him, but if there was ever an occasion that reminded them they weren’t the same people they were in college, this was one of them. 

Feeling fond and a little sorrowful, Brienne went along with the crowd to the reception. She may not have been an official member of the bridal party, but Joy had made space for her at their table and they passed the first hour in happy conversation, eating good food and toasting the newlyweds. Tyrion popped in from time to time, in between making rounds of the room and bemoaning his overly extended family 

“I know for a fact all of my relations can afford birth control, it’d be better if they damned well used it,” he said distastefully, and pointed out a cousin named Lancel. “There’s no excuse for that.”

Brienne was still trying not to laugh when Renly tugged at her hand, tilting his head at the dance floor. She started to protest, but the plaintive look in Renly’s eyes convinced her to shuffle along with him for a few minutes. 

He wasted no time once they were ostensibly alone. “He came, he’s here, you need to make sure I don’t make an absolute idiot of myself.”

“Who’s this now?” Brienne asked, completely puzzled.

“Loras,” Renly hissed. “Margaery’s little brother. Well, not so little anymore, but still, gods, he looks really fucking good.”

Renly turned them in place and glanced significantly to one side. Brienne’s mouth dropped open when she saw the handsome man approaching Margaery, remarkably less youthful than she last saw him. “That’s Loras? Wow, he’s grown up.”

“You do not need to tell me,” Renly muttered. 

“How old is he now?”

“Twenty-one, finally, thank the gods, do you know how difficult it was to wait this long?”

Brienne stared at her friend. Renly had never been one to be flustered and he glared at her shocked smile. “Don’t judge. True, I could have gone for it three years ago, but I have to maintain some standards and taking my date for a drink is one of them.”

“Your self-discipline is awe-inspiring,” Brienne deadpanned. 

“Don’t be mean,” Renly pleaded. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“You’re never nervous.”

“Well, I am this time.”

Brienne could see it and she pulled Renly in for a hug. “Just be yourself. I like that guy.”

“Thanks,” Renly said into her shoulder. 

They kept dancing, giving Renly time to practice a casual greeting that Brienne pretended not to hear. She watched the crowd around them, ignoring the mumbling in her ear and hoping against hope that Renly didn’t take notice when she caught sight of Jaime once more. 

She cast her eyes down, irritated by the small twinge in the middle of her chest. They’d not spoken since he’d left the campsite the summer before. In the intervening months, Tyrion occasionally mentioned that his brother said hi from a distance and Brienne changed the subject before he could say anything more. It had left her off kilter for far too long, the change in Jaime’s attitude, or perhaps more the reveal of the person he actually was, as opposed to what she thought him to be. 

It didn’t change that he was there with the infamous love of his life, a woman who fussed with his tie and brushed her hands over his shoulders with untold familiarity. He grinned back at her, amusement obvious, when she started to worry at her own dark hair. 

For some reason, Brienne had assumed that his girlfriend was a striking blonde, perhaps severe and haughty, but beautiful. The woman, instead, seemed merely pretty, and seemed pleasant even from a distance -- a far cry from the jealous, controlling harpy Tyrion had always claimed her to be. Whatever his previous feelings, even Tyrion seemed to have warmed toward her, talking animatedly to them both. 

They looked content, happy. Brienne supposed she should be happy for Jaime, it seemed as if they’d turned a corner. She was happy for him. This was a good thing.

Brienne sighed as the song ended and asked Renly, “Ready to give it a shot?”

“Define ready.”

Renly still looked slightly panicked, so Brienne clasped his jaw between her palms. “You are a catch, Renly Baratheon. He would be so lucky.”

“You’re the best, Brienne.” Renly took a fortifying breath. “Off I go.”

Brienne was ready to take a seat, to watch the inevitable fireworks between the two men, but felt a tap on her shoulder and a low voice asking, “Would you like to dance?”

Her stomach swooped even though the voice was all wrong and Brienne shifted to find an unfamiliar man standing alongside her. “Excuse me?”

“A dance, if you’d like,” he repeated. At Brienne’s continued confusion, he added, “I’m Daven, Joy’s cousin.”

“Oh.” There was a resemblance, she supposed, though the hair was a touch too dark and eyes a gentler blue-green than she had in mind. “I don’t--”

Joy came into her line of vision, making a pleading face that rivaled Renly’s, throwing in clasped fingers under her chin. Brienne quietly sighed and nodded at her friend. “Sure, let’s go.”

However Joy had managed it, Brienne didn’t go long without a dancing partner. First it was Daven, then Willem, then finally a non-Lannister named Addam. The only reason Brienne didn’t run screaming from their polite invitations was the knowledge that Joy was clearly involved and she would in no way arrange something for Brienne’s humiliation. So she danced and danced some more, trading general pleasantries with each of the men and watching Renly over their shoulders. His nervousness seemed entirely pointless, in the end, considering how absolutely enthralled Loras appeared to be. 

Brienne was smiling to herself when yet another man came and Addam released her in a neat little spin -- straight into Jaime’s arms.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” he remarked. 

“Oh, um. Hi.” Brienne held herself stiffly, her motions automatic in following Jaime’s lead when he entwined his left hand in her right and put his other arm around her waist. They were close enough that she didn’t have to look him straight in the face, thankfully, and Brienne trained her eyes elsewhere. 

“Don’t sound too excited,” Jaime drawled into her ear. “Unless you prefer Addam, I can get him back here if you want.”

Brienne leaned back and frowned at him. “Why would you think that?”

“You looked pretty pleased with him, is all.”

“Ah, no, that wasn’t it-- though he was nice! He was,” Brienne corrected herself and resumed her previous position to keep his face in the periphery. “But I was looking at Renly.”

“...I see.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at the pitying note in his voice. “Not like that. He was nervous about talking to Loras and it looks like it’s going well.”

“Is that so?” Jaime craned his head back to look at them. “They do seem enamored.”

“I’ve never seen Renly act like that,” Brienne said honestly. 

“No? Good for him.”

Brienne shrugged restlessly, hoping desperately that her palms didn’t break into a sweat. Up close, Jaime smelled incredibly good and the muscle flexing under her left hand was solid and warm beneath his impeccably-tailored suit jacket. It took all she had to not drift closer -- what in the hells had gotten into her?

“You must be pleased.” Brienne attempted a relaxed patter she’d exchanged with the other men, though she had a sinking feeling it would fail full stop. “For Joy, I mean.”

Her suspicion was accurate; Jaime answered with a noncommittal _hmm_. 

“You’re not?”

“Joy’s always been a favorite of mine,” Jaime answered. “Hard for me to say if Harlyn is deserving of her.”

“Joy certainly feels he is.”

“Joy’s faith in humanity is as admirable as it is naive.”

“You say that like ‘naive’ tips the balance between the two.”

“Maybe it does.”

Jaime spun her out and brought her back in, even closer than before. The inability to see his face was less of a benefit now, what with his chest pressed against hers and Brienne fought to keep herself steady. 

“You look nice,” he told her.

“Thank you,” Brienne said faintly. 

“I was surprised when Joy said you weren’t going to be in the wedding party. You missed a whole week of nonsense, but you’re dressed for it now.”

“It was a gift from her,” Brienne replied. “But, um, things have been really busy lately and she gave me a break from having to do wedding stuff.”

“Oh?”

It was a leading question, a heavy single syllable. Brienne refused the bait. “How have you been?”

“Keeping busy with this and that,” Jaime said. “Spent the entire week with your crew, they made me an honorary member in your absence.”

“My crew,” Brienne laughed out disbelievingly. 

“They missed you, and you missed out on some good times. Tell me, though, is there something going on between Margaery and Sansa? I couldn’t get a direct answer out of anyone.”

It was only the sight of the brunette at Jaime’s table that kept Brienne from asking if he had any personal vested interest. “Erm, no. Not officially.”

Jaime tipped his head back, a wide grin forming at her hedging. “And unofficially?”

“Unofficially,” Brienne said slowly, “we might have, as a group, decided a long time ago that we were all better off being friends. No dating in _the crew_ , as you put it. Not that there were many options for dating between us all, but Tyrion may have had a crush on Sansa early on.”

“You could be right,” Jaime agreed. “Though he’s moved on since then.”

“In a variety of ways with a variety of women,” Brienne said dryly, regretting it when Jaime chuckled in her ear. 

“Safe to say that -- unofficially -- they might have broken your agreement?” Jaime asked. He squeezed her hand playfully. “Certainly the rules can be relaxed in special circumstances.”

“Maybe,” Brienne wondered aloud. She’d never discussed it with anyone aside from Joy, Tyrion and Renly. Alarm bells should have been sounding at the idea of telling Jaime about it, but he seemed truly curious, no disapproval to be found. “Except they are in very different places in their lives right now and Sansa lives way up north. It would take a great deal of sacrifice and I’m not sure either of them is willing or ready to make the changes necessary.”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Make the changes necessary,” Jaime said, as if that clarified anything. 

Brienne shook her head. “No one has asked it of me, so I can’t really say if I would or not.”

“I thought I heard something about a boyfriend from Tyrion.”

“What? No.” Brienne thought hard on it. “Unless he meant Hyle.”

“You mean Kyle.”

“No. Hyle.”

“Why the fuck would a person name their kid Hyle?”

Brienne laughed helplessly. “I don’t know, but that’s his name.”

“Hyle,” Jaime said derisively. “Sounds like I’m trying to hold back a hiccup, or worse. _Hyle_.”

“My ex,” Brienne explained, barely holding in a snigger. “I did run into him a couple months ago. He wanted to give it another shot and I turned him down.”

“Good on you,” Jaime replied, which was a bit rich coming from him, Brienne thought silently. “Is he the one that--”

“Cheated? Yes.” Brienne made a low, contemptuous noise. “He tried to play it off as us just being kids, but it was literally only three years ago. We were younger, but hardly children.” 

Couples broke apart around them and Brienne realized that the song had ended. She started to pull away from Jaime, stymied when he kept his hands exactly where they were. “Washing your hands of me so soon?” he asked. 

“I thought you might want to get back to…” Brienne glanced at where Tyrion sat with Jaime’s girlfriend. She’d expected to find a glare on the woman’s face and could only blink when she got a friendly wave instead. 

“They’ll keep each other entertained,” Jaime said. “One more song, if your dance card isn’t filled already.”

“Joy would know better than I do,” Brienne replied. Nevertheless, she allowed Jaime to keep her close, even though the alarm bells _were_ starting to ring now, for wholly different reasons. He felt entirely too good, smelled entirely too good, his voice in her ear was entirely too--

“Why’s that?”

“Well, she’s the one who must have asked…” Brienne trailed off at Jaime’s absolutely puzzled look. There wasn’t so much of a hint of false innocence and she had no idea what to make of it. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” Jaime disagreed. “Why would Joy do anything like that?”

Brienne released a soft, low breath. “Just… people were cruel, in the past. Joy may have taken this opportunity to give me some better memories, I guess.”

“They couldn’t have asked you to dance on their own?”

“That’s the unlikelier explanation of the two,” Brienne admitted. Jaime seemed oddly displeased by her answer. “I thought that’s why you came up, too.”

“Trust me, Brienne, I don’t go anywhere except where I want to go,” Jaime replied. “I would have done it, if she asked, but she didn’t.”

“I wonder why not,” Brienne said without meaning to. Once it was out, it was fairly clear to both of them exactly why.

“She probably still thinks you hate my guts,” Jaime suggested.

“And vice versa,” Brienne agreed. 

“I never hated you. I didn’t understand you, but I never hated you.”

“We screamed at each other in a parking lot, Jaime.”

Jaime snorted. “I can scream without hating a person. Sometimes screaming can be very fun, in fact.”

She felt her face redden. “Shut up.”

“Ah, there she is,” Jaime chuckled. “You never told them that our truce held?”

“I didn’t tell them we had a truce at all, I wasn’t sure it would last.” 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again, to be honest, and she still wasn’t sure how to feel about it, especially when he tugged her closer and replied, “Well, it looks like it did.”

“For now,” Brienne warned him. 

“You’ll have to do something pretty horrible to break it at this point and I don’t think you’re capable of that,” he insisted. 

“And I’m hardly going to give you the time to try otherwise,” Brienne said back. At Jaime’s silent question, she explained, “I’m heading out right after the reception. I need to get back to King’s Landing.”

Jaime paused and Brienne almost tripped over his feet. “I thought you were in Storm’s End.”

“I am, or I was.” Brienne nudged him so they could resume their dance. “I was transferred and I’m in the middle of moving, that’s why I couldn’t be here all week.”

“I see,” he said slowly. They danced in silence for the first time and Brienne saw Tyrion give her concerned look and make a complicated gesture with his hands that she surmised was a question of whether she wanted to be rescued from his brother. Brienne gave him a faint shake of her head and waved her palm in an _all good, don’t worry_ reply. 

“I go to King’s Landing. For business,” Jaime said suddenly.

“Ah. Yeah. A lot of people do, I guess. Me included now,” Brienne replied. 

“No, I mean… next time I’m there, we should-- we should hang out. See if the truce can be maintained.”

“What if it’s one of those things with diminishing returns?” Brienne gave him a mock serious look. “What if this was the best it was ever going to get, mainly because we didn’t want to hurt Joy by getting into it at her wedding?”

“I think I’ll choose to have a little more faith in both of us, as strange as that sounds,” Jaime said in return.

Something in the way he said it made her want to smile and it took all she had to suppress it. The alarm bells were clanging louder than ever, but she suppressed those, too. His girlfriend, after all, was only twenty feet away. “If you say so.”

“All right then, sounds like a… plan,” Jaime said.

The second song ended and they parted ways, only briefly meeting again an hour later when they crossed paths in the line for cake and Jaime handed her a napkin, his cell number written under the embossed _Harlyn & Joy Forever_. Brienne put it in her phone, tempted to give him a pithy nickname, not that she could think of one off the top of her head except _Asshole_ , but that seemed unfair in its inaccuracy.

When she left a little after that, she still hadn’t decided if she would call at all. 

****************************************

“Of course you got carried away, _of course_ ,” Brienne said with a sigh.

“Don’t be so judgy, we went halfsies. Threesies? No, that sounds too much like threesome and my brother is involved.” Margaery delicately shuddered and plopped a wide-brimmed sun hat on her head. “Come on, Brienne, our accommodations await.”

Brienne felt underdressed just standing on the veranda, a sensation that skyrocketed further when she walked inside the villa. The Summer Isles, she thought despairingly. Why had she bothered to hope that Renly and Margaery would retain even a modicum of self-control? They’d never been the most modest of their group and Margaery had been threatening for months that if they were going to take over a year to get together again, her turn was going to be epic. Toss in the fact that Loras was celebrating his graduation and Renly had upped it another notch. 

What she wanted most was a nap, her entire body worn out from the long flights from King’s Landing to Pentos, then Volantis before finally arriving at her destination. Hours of being log jammed into seats far too narrow and painfully lacking leg room had left her tired and achy and cranky; Margaery’s pleased humming was like nails on a chalkboard.

Brienne held back from saying as much, instead mumbling that she was going to lay down for a while. Margaery chirped back which room was reserved for her and Brienne gave it a cursory glance, more concerned that the bed looked sturdy enough to catch her. It did and she barely remembered to kick off her shoes before falling into a deep slumber. 

The room was just as bright when she opened her eyes again; the shadows had lengthened, the only indication that time had passed, but Brienne knew days on the Summer Isles stretched longer than they did in Westeros. A benefit, to be sure, when they were ready to hit the beach or travel inland to the lagoons and waterfalls, but not conducive to sleeping as much as she wanted.

It might not have just been the sunbeams hitting the bed that woke her, Brienne realized when she heard other voices intermixing with Margaery’s on the other side of the closed door. She was wide awake in an instant and Brienne sat up, watching the door with trepidation. 

Margaery must have had a sixth sense for it, because she knocked lightly and walked in, shutting the door behind her. “Sleep well?”

“Enough for now,” Brienne yawned. “Who’s here?”

“I feel like you already know,” Margaery replied, her eyebrows high. “But, yes, it’s Tyrion and Jaime, and a surprise guest.”

“Is that so?” Brienne asked weakly.

“Don’t know how she did it, but someone’s finally pinned that man down.” Margaery dropped alongside her in the bed. “Tyrion has brought home a girl, can you believe it? Our little man is all grown up.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Brienne did a double-take. “Wait, _Tyrion_ brought a girl?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Sounds like he’s been keeping it under wraps from us for a while, the brat,” Margaery replied. She turned to face Brienne and tucked a pillow under her head. “Her name is Tysha and she’s lovely. When you feel a little more human, you should come out to say hi. I’ll find a gag for Jaime, if you’d like.”

“As if that would help anything.” He’d likely cheerfully chew through it and continue whatever endless chatter he’d started on, at ill ease until he’d spoken his mind completely. “Just them, though?”

“Renly and Loras will be here tonight. Sansa texted that she’s landed and on her way.” Margaery went quieter, more casual. “She brought her boyfriend after all.”

Brienne knew her too well to not see through it. “Margaery…”

Margaery shook her head, looking determined. “It’s all right. It is. We had our chance and didn’t take it, that’s how it goes sometimes.”

“I’d understand if you still feel weird about it.”

“I know, Brienne, thanks.” Margaery reached for her phone. “Anyway, I promised Joy we’d video her when you woke, you know she’ll cheer both of us up.”

“Why do I need to be cheered up?”

“A week in close quarters with Jaime? I know it’ll be torture for you,” Margaery replied. Brienne didn’t have a moment to address it before the video with Joy’s happy face popped up. “Hi, mama!”

“Hi!” Joy waved at the camera and then picked up a tiny hand from the bundle in her arms to wave, as well. “Oh, look at you guys!”

“Look at you! Let me see that precious baby.” Margaery quietly squealed when Joy angled the camera to show off her infant daughter’s scrunched face. “Oh my gods, I just want to eat her up.”

“I know,” Joy said emphatically. “I wish I could be there with all of you, but she more than makes up for it.”

They let Joy prattle on for several minutes, telling them about diaper changes, bottle feedings and late nights, all of it spoken with exhausted adoration. Brienne missed her friend more than anything, but it was hardly an option for her, flying halfway across the world so soon after giving birth. Despite the distance, she was still Joy and she took time to murmur apologetically to Margaery when she shared the news about Sansa. It was little wonder that she turned to Brienne with a tired, “I told him to be respectful, Brienne. If Jaime puts a toe out of line, you tell me and I’ll put him back in his place.”

“That’s really not necessary,” Brienne started.

“And what are you going to do from way the hells over there?” Margaery asked. 

“Watch!” Joy stared at the camera and her eyes started to well with tears, hovering on the lower lashes and gleaming. Her chin quivered for just a moment and then her face cleared entirely and she gave them a wide grin, wiping at her eyes. “I’ve learned to harness the power of rampaging hormones! He’ll have no idea what hit him.”

“Diabolical,” Margaery said in awe. 

Brienne laughed into her hand. “Joy, that’s very impressive, but it’s really not necessary. Jaime and I are fine, we’re absolutely fine. It’s been a really long time since we were at our worst around each other.”

“That may be so, but he kept asking me if you were going to be on the trip, I don’t want him irritating you simply because he wants entertainment,” Joy retorted. “He was a proper gentleman at the wedding, but only because I threatened him within an inch of his life.”

This was news to Brienne and Margaery, who said, “Gods, I wish you were here. I like this edgy new Joy. I mean I love you, you know I do, but sweetling, this is next level. I think I might _actually_ cry.”

Joy fluttered her lashes and Margaery cooed over her. 

It covered the sound Brienne’s phone made and she checked it while Margaery ended the video chat. Jaime’s message of _Get your ass out here, there’s someone you should meet_ was true to form.

He’d warned her of it several weeks before, the last time he’d visited King’s Landing. Brienne had pasted on a smile and deemed it _great!_ and claimed _I’m looking forward to it!_ She was certain he’d seen through the lie, his own smile wavering the longer the silence held between them. She’d dodged his calls ever since, completely at a loss on how to handle the unavoidable truth that no matter how much Jaime made her stomach flip and heart pound faster, wanting him was an absolutely useless endeavor. 

Brienne bent her legs, rested her forehead on her knees and groaned. 

“What’s up with you?” Margaery asked. 

“Jaime.” 

“We’ve got a secret weapon now, nothing to worry about, babe.”

“No, that’s not--” Brienne stopped short, angry at herself for being too afraid to tell any of them that she and Jaime were hardly enemies anymore. They were -- by the grace or practical jokes courtesy of the gods -- actually _friends._

They were friends who split the dinner bill when he was in the city on business, who recommended television shows to one another and sent long, rambling emails tearing apart plots they were dissatisfied with. They were friends that met up for a baseball game when they needed a change of pace, instinctively rooting for opposing teams to keep things interesting, the loser buying a beer for the winner once the stands cleared out. When they did, they argued over which of them was the more capable outdoorsman and made vague allusions about visiting the God’s Eye that Brienne never put any true stock in. 

They were the kind of friends where Jaime still enjoyed teasing her over the way they’d met, playing with a beer bottle, spinning it between his fingers as he pitched his voice low and asked _So, you finally going to take me home tonight, Brienne?_

It was getting harder to laugh it off, to snort and send him packing back to his company apartment. Brienne did it because she had to, because one of these days she’d blurt out a yes and ruin absolutely everything. 

It no longer seemed like a joke, a farce, the way Jaime seemed to enjoy her company, but neither did she think either of them anticipated Brienne’s heart and libido running amok, leaving her sense of self-preservation in the dust. She wanted him, no matter how many times that she reminded herself that he had someone he was devoted to at home, who he’d stuck with through all sorts of tribulations. If it wasn’t in direct opposition to her own happiness, she would have admired him for it. 

Instead, she was miserable in the fact that she was falling deeper every time they met up for a friendly meal, a friendly drink. Deeper in what exactly, she still refused to address. Lust was easy to name, if ignoble to to recognize. But love?

For all that was good and holy, she hoped to the Seven it wasn’t love. 

Brienne allowed herself a single moment to feel sorry for herself and then threw her shoulders back, rising and saying, “Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit!” Margaery jumped up to open the door. “I’m telling you, Tysha is a sweetheart, you’ll love her.”

“Which might make her way too good for Tyrion,” Brienne said wryly.

“Shh, don’t tell either of them that,” Margaery teased as they went down the hall. “And there she is! Tysha, this is Brienne.”

There wasn’t a scant second for Brienne to take it in, she was bowled over from one moment to the next because Tysha?

Tysha was the brunette from the wedding. 

“Brienne, I’ve heard so much about you!” The other woman came forward and wrapped her in a warm hug. “All good things, before you ask.”

“Um, hello,” Brienne said softly. She glanced to see Jaime sitting on the couch, regarding her with expectant humor, and Tyrion looking tentatively pleased next to him. “I know you. Or, I mean, I’ve seen you.”

“I’ve seen you, too,” Tysha agreed. “The night I met Tyrion.”

“Joy’s wedding.” The wedding, where Tysha had been Jaime’s date. Jaime’s girlfriend. Hadn’t she been?

“Jaime insisted I go, he thought Tyrion and I would hit it off. He wasn’t wrong.”

“I hardly am. Never, actually.” Jaime stretched lazily and Brienne tore her eyes away from the sight, looking back to Tysha. “Much as Brienne would tell you otherwise.”

Brienne knew she was staring at Tyrion’s girlfriend -- _Tyrion’s girlfriend_ \-- but her mind was speeding along at a thousand miles an hour. “I-- I don’t understand.”

“You hear that, Tyrion? Even Brienne didn’t think you could land a woman as good as Tysha.”

“Will you shut up?” Brienne said sharply and Jaime looked taken aback. Acutely, magnificently embarrassed, Brienne muttered, “Sorry, I’ve got to… I’ll be back.”

She raced outside, desperate for clarity that she knew she couldn’t possibly find with anyone in the villa, not even Jaime because Jaime could have said, he could have _said,_ did he say?

Brienne didn’t know. 

She started pacing in the driveway, her mind too tangled up in its confusion to notice that, once again -- always always always -- Jaime followed after her. 

“What in the hells was that?” he asked. No, demanded. Brienne stared at him, wild-eyed. “Are you trying to make a damn fool of yourself? Tysha’s wondering if _you’re_ the jackass here.”

“What is going on?” Brienne asked back, with just as much frustration, maybe more. Definitely more. “What are you doing, Jaime?”

“I have no fucking clue!” Jaime threw his hands in the air. “First you don’t answer my calls and then when I show up here, you’re rude to my friend and yell at me like a maniac. What has gotten into you?”

“Where’s your girlfriend, Jaime?” Her voice had gone uncontrollably loud. “ _Where the fuck is_ your _girlfriend?_ ”

“What girlfriend?” Jaime shouted. “You know there’s no one else!”

Brienne went slack jawed. 

“You…” Jaime stared at her, aghast. “Brienne, you know there’s no one else.”

“Else?” It dropped in a tremble from her mouth. “Else from who?”

“Brienne.” Jaime gave her a pitying look. “For fuck’s sake, Brienne. From you, that’s who.”

“Oh, my gods, what the fuck,” Brienne murmured. She turned to walk away from him, mindlessly following the drive down to the main road. 

She didn’t get far and Jaime didn’t make more than a few scrapes underfoot in following her before a car made the turn up the driveway. Brienne drifted to one side and it stopped, Sansa and a young man with a dark beard emerging from within.

“Hey!” Sansa started off brightly and then her face went concerned as her eyes darted to Jaime and back to Brienne. She called out over her shoulder, “Jon, darling, could you get our things inside? I’ll be right there. And, um, that’s Jaime. Maybe you can keep each other company?”

“Uh, sure,” said Jon. Jaime grumbled, but soon he was out of earshot, because Brienne grabbed hold of Sansa and practically dragged her away. 

There were thick trees on every side of the villa apart from the rocky outcropping in the back that revealed the ocean in the distance. Brienne didn’t guide them very far in, just enough that they were out of sight of civilization and she found an acceptable spot to sit on a fallen log and drop her face into her hands. 

“He got to you that quickly, huh?” Sansa ran her hand over Brienne’s back. “I’ll talk to him, all right?”

“He doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Brienne moaned miserably. 

“Jaime? No?” Sansa sounded completely confused. “Not for a while.”

Brienne sighed into her hands. “Since when?”

“Oh, I… gosh, a couple years? Brienne, what is this about?”

“How do you know?” Brienne swallowed and tried to ease the sting out of the words. “Sorry, just… how do you know?”

“Well, it was after camping,” Sansa explained. “Margaery and I went to Lannisport to drop Tyrion off, remember? Jaime told him when we got there. He was kind of a wreck, but I got the idea that he’s the one who ended it.”

“And that was it?”

Sansa shrugged. “As far as I know. Brienne, what is this about?”

“I’m probably in love with him?” Any other time she would’ve enjoyed the utter shock that made Sansa’s eyes go as wide as a doll’s, her mouth gape open like a sock puppet. “But I thought that he, that I… I thought he was still with her.”

“Whoa.” Sansa sat down, letting out a loud _whoosh_ of air. “Someone’s been keeping secrets.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Brienne said plaintively. “He’s been visiting the city and we’ve spent time together. I thought it was just as friends and I tried my best not to want more and I didn't say because I knew you’d make me deal with it and now you’re telling me this, and he’s telling me _that_ and I don’t know, oh gods, I’m such an idiot.”

Sansa wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t talk about my friend that way. I’ll beat you up if you do.”

Brienne faintly chuckled; it easily shifted into a groan. “I just made such an ass of myself. I have been for ages, it turns out.”

“We all act a little stupid from time to time, it’s all right,” Sansa reassured her. 

“Can I hide in the woods for the rest of the week? You’ll bring me food, right?”

“Not a chance,” Sansa replied. “But… if it makes you feel any better, I can let you in on a secret of my own.”

She wasn’t sure how it would help, but Brienne waved her hand in invitation of it.

“Jon is…” Sansa sighed. “Jon’s my cousin.”

Brienne’s brow furrowed, absorbing that little slice of information and she attempted to not let her innate cringe show. “Oh. Well, maybe that’s a little strange, but I can’t fault you for caring--”

Sansa lightly slapped Brienne's shoulder. “No! Gross!” 

“Then I don’t understand. Again.”

“I thought Margaery was bringing someone,” Sansa confessed. “So I said I was bringing someone.”

“Ohhhh.”

“Which is a terrible idea, because Jon is the _worst_ at keeping his mouth shut. I give him until the end of the night before he starts talking about his Uncle Ned and cousin Robb and the whole thing will unravel.”

Brienne snorted and it made Sansa giggle along with her. 

“What a pair we make, huh?” Sansa asked. 

“At least you still have a shot with Margaery if you tell her the truth. Don’t look at me like that,” Brienne ordered when Sansa gasped. “It’s been eight years since you’ve met and you still haven’t shaken each other loose.”

“That’s true,” Sansa admitted. “Honestly, Brienne, you do, too. With Jaime, I mean. He’s made an ass of himself enough that he’s got to give you a little wiggle room.”

“I just feel so stupid,” Brienne muttered. 

“Well, love can make us act pretty stupid. Come on.” She stood and stretched out her hand. “We have to face the music, might as well do it sooner than later.”

Sansa faced it first, surprisingly eager when they made it past the threshold into the villa. Jon played at putting his arm around her, which Sansa immediately shrugged off to stand in front of Margaery and announce, “Jon is my cousin and I am in love with you. Now what are you going to do about it?”

Margaery broke into a wide smile. “Hello to you, too.”

“And?” Sansa demanded. 

“And…” Margaery took in their captive audience. “And we should discuss this in private. We should discuss it very thoroughly.”

Sansa glanced back at Brienne, giving her a thrilled smile and a thumbs up right before the door to the room next to Brienne’s shut them away inside. 

Jaime was nowhere to be found, so Brienne sheepishly approached Tysha and said, “I’m so sorry about before, I know I was rude--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tyrion cut in. “I told her that Jaime has a gift for setting you off, it’s entirely his fault.”

“It’s not,” Brienne denied it and turned back to Tysha, “and I am sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” she replied. “Want to help us with dinner?”

“I would, but where’s Jaime?” It was only by the skin of her teeth that she didn’t worry her fingers together. “I should apologize to him.”

“He’s off sulking in his room,” Tyrion let her know. “Whatever tongue-lashing you gave him out there did the trick. I wouldn’t bother with him for a while.”

“No, but--”

“Brienne, seriously, you do not want to see the lengths to which my brother will pout. Come help us with dinner.”

She did, often casting her eyes towards the hall where Tyrion had indicated Jaime’s room was, but though hours passed and dinner was dished out, Jaime didn’t make an appearance. Renly and Loras arrived later that evening -- infatuated with each other as much as ever, which cheered Brienne some -- and their arrival heralded a round of yawns and sleepy proclamations of catching up in the morning. 

Brienne went to her room and changed for bed, not tired at all anymore, but also not sure what to do with herself as the noises around her settled down. When everything went quiet, however, she discovered that as luxurious as the villa was, the walls were just thin enough to ascertain what exactly was going on in Margaery’s room next door and she quickly hustled out to the living room to spare them at least a little more privacy.

A door in the other hallway snapped shut and Brienne stared when Jaime emerged, dangling his suitcase from one hand. 

“You’re leaving?” she asked, terribly hurt at the notion of it, even if she likely didn’t have the right.

Jaime glanced downward, as if surprised by her question. “No, just had an issue. My toiletries busted open during the flight.”

“Oh.”

Jaime gave her a searching look. “Do you want me to leave?”

Brienne shook her head. 

He let out a deep breath. “Can you tell me _what_ you want from me?”

“I…” Brienne hesitated and Jaime scoffed lowly. “Jaime--”

“G’night, Brienne.” He turned and walked past her into the kitchen, then into the laundry room on the other end. 

He was on his knees inside, pulling items from the case when she summoned the courage to follow after. He didn’t shift to look at her, though his back went stiff when Brienne asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you split up with her?”

“I thought you knew,” Jaime replied, the effort in his voice belying its casualness. 

“I didn’t. I thought…” Brienne crossed her arms. “I thought she was still in the picture, that we’d pretty much agreed not to bring her up. I thought it was Tysha, at the wedding. That’s why I was so… it was a shock to see her today and learn otherwise.”

“Ah.” Jaime still wouldn’t look at her. He used very precise movements to load the washer and turn it on, though he missed an obvious step. Brienne moved forward to pass him the soap from the table over the machines and he took it without meeting her eyes. 

Brienne couldn’t stand it any longer. “Jaime, why? After so long, after you weathered so much. Why?”

It hung between them long enough for Brienne to wonder if he would say anything at all. 

Then he replied, “Because I was unhappy. I realized I’d been unhappy for a very long time and no amount of work I put in was going to fix it.”

At last he stood completely and met her gaze and Brienne glanced away, startled by the exasperation and indignation she saw there. 

“Now ask me how,” Jaime insisted. 

Brienne licked her lips. “How what?”

“Ask me how I realized it, how I knew I needed to end it.”

He was wound tight and her pulse was pounding in her ears. “How, then? How did you know?”

“Because against all odds, and it made zero fucking sense, but I had a better time talking to you in ten minutes than I did in the last ten years with her,” Jaime told her, sounding as if he resented having to spell out every single word. “And I’ve spent the last year trying my damndest to get to you, to get that again and every time I felt like I made headway, you threw another brick wall in my face.”

“But you didn’t tell me!” Brienne held herself more tightly. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Fucking ask, Brienne!” Jaime burst out. 

His anger was contagious and Brienne yelled back, “Fucking tell me, Jaime!”

“I did, over and over, asking you to go out, asking you to take me home with you, I couldn’t have been any clearer!”

“It wasn’t clear! You told me you were in town for business, not for anything else,” Brienne cried out. “Not even Tyrion knew you were going, he still thinks we hate each other!”

“What was I supposed to tell him? Hey, bro, I’m fucking crazy about one of your best friends. Oh, she hasn’t said a damn thing about me? That’s a _great_ sign.”

Brienne couldn’t find a thing to say to that. 

“For gods’ sake, Brienne, half the time I go there is on my own dime! Do you really think I was showing up on Saturdays for business meetings?”

“I-- I don’t know.” Brienne ran her hands through her hair, her scalp singing from the scrape of her nails. “None of it made sense.”

“It made perfect sense, if you bothered to ask what was going on,” Jaime said angrily. “Most everything I did for work there I could have done from Lannisport. I went there because of you. I went there _for_ you.”

“Why couldn’t you just say that?”

“Why couldn’t you just ask?”

“Because what if I was _wrong_?” It was horrifying, the way her face heated as she said it, the tears that threatened to spring up. Jaime was staring at her, his mouth ajar, his rebuke likely frozen by whatever he saw on her face. Brienne took a slow breath, shutting her eyes for just a moment to will herself to settle down. “What if I said yes, any of those times, and you just laughed at me?”

When she opened her eyes, Jaime looked even more irate. “At what point, in the last two years, have I given you any reason to think I would do that?”

Her throat had gone dry. It was hard to get it out, but she did: “You haven’t.”

“Are you going to keep punishing me for something that happened ages ago, something I thought we’d put behind us, Brienne? Do I even have a fucking chance here?” 

The anger was still there, undoubtedly, but it had shifted to something more desperate. Brienne had seen it once before, meant for someone else, someone Jaime had broken away from, though she'd been certain he never would. _I did that_ , Brienne realized. _When did he give me the power to do that?_

“Brienne,” Jaime said again. He looked far more serious than she’d ever seen him, intent and focused and furious. “You need to tell me because I can’t do this anymore, I’ve had enough in the past of someone screwing with my head. Do I have a godsdamned chance?”

It was difficult to say it, her breath was coming too quick, her heart seizing, anticipating the freefall she was about to endure. Brienne could only nod, first a twitch that she recognized wasn’t nearly enough, and then rapidly so that Jaime could know that yes, _yes_ , this is what she wanted, too. 

“For fuck’s sake, finally,” Jaime breathed out and then he was in her space, his mouth on hers, their bodies slammed together in his eagerness. He kissed her again and again, Brienne trying fruitlessly to keep him close, but Jaime kept backing his head away to mutter, “Godsdamned obstinate woman” and “Do you always have to be this difficult?”

“Me?” Brienne asked when she broke for a breath. “Difficult is your middle name. It should be your _first_ name.”

Jaime answered her by reeling her back in, parting her lips with his own, his tongue seeking hers and Brienne whimpered into his mouth. Their hands were everywhere, rucking up each other’s shirts, dipping below waistbands, their entire bodies grappling, almost as if they were still fighting for an advantage. 

She couldn’t get enough of him, all of him, the taste in her mouth, the heat of taut skin under her palms, the pressure of his fingertips digging into her waist, brushing over her breasts. Brienne nearly whined when Jaime tugged her knee up around his hip and she felt him, firm and nearly scalding against her. She tried to press back, only for the edge of the laundry table to bite into her back with the movement and she tore away from him to hiss at the sensation. 

“Did I--”

“No, the blasted table,” Brienne interrupted him. She lolled her head back when Jaime mumbled his relief and started nipping at her throat. “This is not really a good spot to--”

“Your room?” 

“Yeah-- no, shit. Margaery and Sansa are next door, they’ll hear.”

Jaime stopped sucking on her throat and raised his head. “I don’t care if they do.”

“I do,” Brienne retorted. 

“What, are you just going to keep hiding this from them?”

“No, Jaime, damn it, no.” Brienne grabbed his face and kissed him as fiercely as possible. “I don’t care if they know later, I just don’t want them to know _during_.”

He rolled his eyes, but said, “Fine. Then you tell me where, because if they’re a problem, Tyrion is one, too. He’s right next door to mine.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.”

“Should we…” Their dilemma gave her time to catch her breath, but barely. Jaime looked too rumpled and enticing and Brienne grabbed his shirt collar without thinking, dragging him in to kiss again and Jaime chuckled into her mouth, sounding triumphant and hungry and _happy_. 

He was happy. They both were. And Brienne didn’t want to wait a second longer. 

Her body decided it before her mind did, her fingers tugging at the button of Jaime’s shorts and he gasped against her mouth. “In here?”

“You got a better idea?” Brienne asked.

“Nope, this is a great idea, the best fucking idea,” Jaime replied, his voice going high pitched at the end, when Brienne wrapped her hand around the hard length of him. “Ooh, fuck, best idea, you are so fucking smart.”

Brienne laughed and then groaned when Jaime returned the favor, shoving down her pajama bottoms to grind his hand between her legs. She had half a mind that they could take care of each other this way, momentarily satiating their aching need for one another and she pumped her hand up and down his cock even faster, her rhythm stuttering when Jaime pressed one and then two fingers inside of her, his movements greedy and lewd and wonderful. 

Jaime’s voice was strained when he asked, “You’re rushing, why are you rushing?”

“Fast now, slow later,” Brienne quickly answered, using his distraction to steady her strokes. 

He groaned as he pulled his hand away -- the exact opposite of what Brienne wanted and she definitely mewled at the loss -- and then both his hands were on her hips, manhandling her, hoisting her up and she let go of him to automatically grab the flat surface of the table until she was sitting on it, staring down at him from up high with her ankles resting against the washing machine.

Amused by the position he’d put her in, Brienne said, “Jaime, you’re tall, but I think this is beyond both of us.”

It was true enough, her position had put her knees at level with the upper half of his chest, nowhere close enough for them to join together. Jaime ticked an eyebrow up at her and yanked at her pajamas where they’d pooled at her feet and she finally realized what he intended just as he spread her legs, hooked one knee over his shoulder and pitched forward. 

“Holy fuck!” Brienne yelped and then smacked her hand over her mouth, hoping to every single one of the Seven that no one had heard her. 

Jaime drew back to teasingly say, “Fast now, Brienne.”

“Asshole,” she whispered and clamped her mouth shut when he went back in, his lips spreading her apart, splitting her brain into pieces and Brienne flailed, her heel thumping into his back where he’d draped it. 

He mumbled something that sounded like _ow_ but didn’t take his mouth from her; his fingers returned, pressing deep and crooking just so and Brienne pulsed in time with him, her body rocking back and forth, her cunt wetter than she could have ever imagined, from what he wrung out of her. 

She threaded her free hand through his hair, clasping the back of his head as it rolled in time with his lapping tongue and Brienne bit down a scream and then on the fleshy base of her palm when that wasn’t enough. When she came, her vision went white and she could feel her eyes trying their best to roll entirely into the back of her head and she came back to hear the soft sound of Jaime stroking himself as he kept laving his tongue over her. 

“Wait, wait.” Brienne fought off her addled thoughts to urge, “You-- me, too.”

“You just did,” Jaime mumbled, kissing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “Quite well, if I do say so myself.”

“No, let me--” Brienne brought her knees together, carefully nudging Jaime away, though he took the opportunity to run his hands down her legs with frank admiration as he moved back. She dropped down off the table and her watery knees barely held her; Jaime reached out a steadying hand and they laughed together, then they were kissing again, and Jaime tasted different, but it was still him underneath and Brienne didn’t want to stop, not for anything. Only partly clothed and then not at all, it didn’t take much for their bodies to slide together, Jaime’s cock nestling between her legs, gliding along her wet skin in the worst taunt he’d ever lobbed her way.

Vague intentions of dropping down to treat him in kind were lost when Jaime peppered kisses along her jaw until his lips were at her ear and he asked, “Can we? Do you want to?”

“Yeah, yes,” Brienne didn’t recognize her own reedy voice, but Jaime understood her regardless. They broke apart, Jaime motioning to his bag where it was still open on the floor; he dug around and came up with a box and Brienne pursed her lips when she saw what it was. “Were you making plans without me?”

Jaime grinned sharply as he opened the pack of condoms. “No set expectations, but I had plenty of hope and you can hardly say I was wrong for it.”

“I suppose I can’t.” 

“Did you just admit that I’m right?”

“Shut up, Jaime.”

Brienne plucked the condom out of his hand and, with unparalleled confidence, pulled him closer so she could cover him completely. Jaime gripped her arm when she finished and gave him a single, playful stroke. He groaned out, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Doubtful,” Brienne replied.

“Guaranteed,” Jaime disagreed. They came together, kissing slowly at first and then more urgently and she could feel Jaime trying to lift her leg again, but it only reminded them that the laundry table was still a problem and they had a silent exchange of raised eyebrows, pointed chins and stiff hand gestures. 

Irritated and impatient, Brienne turned in place and looked back at him over her shoulder. “Like this?”

Jaime stared downward, seemingly mesmerized for a couple seconds, then forced his eyes up to hers and said, “You’re fucking killing me here, Brienne.”

“No, I’m standing here and you’re just staring.”

“I can’t admire the view?”

Brienne dropped her head forward to thunk it against the table and he made a strangled noise. This was the man her heart had chosen. Her heart was a dummy, same as him. “Jaime, are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Such a charmer,” he replied. “‘How’d you finally get together, Jaime? Oh, we banged in the laundry after she demanded I fuck her already.’ Peak romance, Brienne.”

“Yeah, it’s a real waste of the flower petals and candles you spread out,” Brienne shot back. She shivered when Jaime wrapped an arm around her waist and laid a biting kiss on the back of her neck. Her voice stuttered when she felt him slip between her thighs again. “Please. Jaime, _please_.”

“Since you asked so nicely--” and she wanted to smack him for that, but then Jaime was easing inside of her, filling her and Brienne reached down to clench at his hand where it tightened on her stomach, her other hand going to Jaime’s face behind and then next to her head, turning so she could kiss him once more, their bodies moving together in a way wholly unfamiliar, new and unrivaled. 

It was sweet and slow for no longer than a minute; Jaime set his mouth against her shoulder, his hot breath washing over her skin as his hips started to move faster. Brienne arched her spine and let his face go to grip the table’s edge, pushing back to meet his thrusts so that her ass thumped against his pelvis, the slick and slapping sounds filling the room along with Jaime’s grunts and Brienne’s low moans. 

She lost time, knowing only Jaime, the sensation of him inside, the heat of him behind, their hands intertwining on her abdomen as they learned this brand new dance, solely for them, something she never wanted ever again with anyone else. 

Jaime’s breathing went uneven, his hips jerked behind her and she didn’t need to come again, Brienne only wanted to feel him, to know that he got to feel what she had, but Jaime had other intentions. The hand that had been roaming her body, shoving aside her hair so he could suck at her jaw, grasping her breast then gripping her hip, that had extended down, sliding along the cleft of her cunt, just above where he was gliding in and out. He didn’t tease, he attacked without apology and Brienne gritted her teeth, fighting off another scream.

He came first, holding his hips tight against her ass, letting out a throaty _uh, uhhh_ into her ear as his whole body convulsed and it was that, on top of and with everything else, that made her follow and Brienne dropped her face forward, trying her best to contain every single shout and wail that attempted to claw out of her throat. Jaime was too good, felt entirely too good and she jerked her head back as it crashed over her--

\--and crashed the back of her head directly into Jaime’s face.

“Holy sh--” Jaime stumbled back, letting her go to slam into the opposite wall, bracing himself with one hand, the other covering his nose. “Shit!”

It took Brienne a second or two, the sudden loss of him at first leaving her needy and anxious and then what happened careened to comprehension in her mind.

“Oh gods!” Brienne sped toward him, her hands out in supplication. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Godsdamnit!” Jaime’s voice was muddled and nasally all at once. “Your head is fucking _hard,_ Brienne.”

“Let me see,” Brienne insisted and regretted it immediately when Jaime took his hand away and blood streamed out of his nose. He went to tip his head back and she shrilly said, “No! Forward! Lean forward!”

He followed her command, though he muttered all the while and Brienne scrambled to find something to stem the bleeding, coming up with only her sleep shirt that had been tossed aside at some point that she couldn’t even remember. She held it to Jaime’s nose and gently pinched; Jaime’s mutinous growl told her she wasn’t as gentle as she hoped. 

“I am so sorry,” she pleaded again. 

“I know.” Jaime took hold of the shirt and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground. He looked up at her with a shocked and somehow amused glint in his eye. “Is that what’s going to happen from now on? I make you come and you make me bleed?”

Brienne let out a reluctant laugh and dropped down to her knees. “I hope not.”

“Probably deserved it,” Jaime muttered. 

“Never,” Brienne assured him. 

They sat together, minding his face and mostly forgetting that they were undressed. Brienne checked every minute or two, greatly relieved when the bleeding seemed to have finally stopped and she tenderly ran her fingers over the bridge of Jaime’s nose, assessing it for worse injury. 

“I don’t think there’s any permanent damage,” she told him and Jaime looked ready to argue, but Brienne pointed at her own crooked nose. “Believe me, I would know. You’ll definitely have a black eye, though, probably two.”

“A minor wound won in glorious battle.” Jaime tossed aside the shirt and pulled her close. “I can’t possibly regret it.”

Brienne hid her face in the crook of his neck, unable to stifle her smile in spite of the disastrous end to their exploits. 

They didn’t stay long, the floor was too hard and the room was colder than they’d noticed in their haste to come together. It had been long enough since Brienne first arrived that Jaime’s first load of laundry was done; she tossed it in the dryer and they crept through the villa back to Jaime’s room so he could clean off his face. 

“You’ll stay, won’t you?” He asked only half-jokingly, she could tell. “Nurse me through the night?”

“You’ll be fine,” Brienne replied. Before Jaime could think otherwise, she climbed into his bed and continued, “But yes.”

Sleep came quickly, but Brienne was unused to sharing a bed with anyone and it took little effort for Jaime to rouse her at dawn. Despite his injury, he eased her back on the mattress when she woke, the dim light of the room almost glowing around him as he kissed her softly and moved inside her more slowly than she thought imaginable. It was leagues away from their original mania and Brienne versed herself in the sensation of his bare skin under her palms, the dense muscle of his shoulder between her teeth when he cajoled another orgasm from her. 

When she made it his turn, Jaime gasped and bit back his own moans as Brienne ran her mouth over every inch of his cock, first only with her lips and then with increasingly languid licks and sucking kisses, her hand circled around the base and softly twisting. When she bobbed and retreated, again and again, the heavy weight of him sliding along her tongue, his muscles tensed and quivered underneath her. When he sighed out her name, she glanced up to see something that staggered her.

It took little for Jaime to make her blush and stammer and redden, but she’d never elicited it out of him -- it seemed an impossibility. She discovered, in the course of drawing back and looking up from his cock that it wasn’t so far-fetched when all was said and done. Jaime’s head was pressed back into the pillow, the tendons of his neck strained and prominent in his effort to hold back, a deep red hue spreading over his cheeks, down his throat and over his chest. His eyes clenched shut and his fingers scrabbled at the linens with her every movement; Brienne watched him even as he pulsed between her lips and she swallowed him down, awestruck by how the flush cascaded past his shoulders and down his biceps.

Even after Jaime slumped into something more relaxed and she laid back down with him, carefully stroking her hands on each side of his face, his ears were hot to the touch. She stroked her fingers over them and Brienne thought perhaps loving him wasn’t so terrifying a prospect in the end. 

She placed her cheek against his still warm chest, listening to his slowly recovering heart. Hers. He wanted to be hers. It occurred to her that she could get used to it, distressingly quickly, and there wasn’t any space between them now, but Brienne knew it would come before long. Him in Lannisport, her in King’s--

Jaime tapped his fingers against her back and when he spoke, the anxiety she was trying to fend off made itself known in his voice. “I meant to say-- I suppose you might have an opinion, but the boss is giving me the option to transfer to King’s Landing if I want.”

Brienne bit her lips, wrestling down a wide grin; she lifted her head to playfully glare at him. “Aren’t _you_ the boss?”

“Yes, and I’m very generous.” Jaime cupped her cheek. “What do you think? I wouldn’t call it a sacrifice, but would you?”

She ran her fingers over his nose, along his lips and grinned when he pretended to bite the tips. “Not at all.”

Jaime tried to convince her to stay; Brienne had no problem with anyone knowing, not anymore, not when Jaime was there with her and intentions were so clear, what she hoped for was real. It didn’t change the fact that she was still nude and so Brienne reluctantly left, tiptoeing back to the laundry before anyone could catch her. She was glad she did, because the used condom was smack in the middle of the floor, right next to her crumpled pajamas. 

She cleaned up, put her bottoms back on and stole one of Jaime’s shirts from the dryer, adding her own in with another load even if it was likely a lost cause. Jaime’s suitcase stayed where it was, but she passed by his room long enough to toss the armful of freshly dried clothes on the bed -- on Jaime -- and laughed when he fought his way out from under the pile and got summarily bonked on the head with the box of remaining condoms. 

“I’ll get you back for that,” he hissed as she made her way out the door.

“I hope so!” she whispered back. 

She rested in her own room for a few spare minutes, already aware that trying to doze around Jaime would be pointless, and Brienne rose to the sound of the others moving about and pans clattering on the stovetop. What she hadn’t expected was that as soon as she joined them, Tyrion started off a slow clap. 

Brienne froze, staring at Jaime across the table. She hadn’t been wrong -- in the full light of day, his eyes were both obviously and spectacularly bruised. 

Tyrion continued to clap, quite sarcastically, and whistled under his breath. “I warned you, Jaime. You can’t say I didn’t.”

“No?” Jaime gleefully bit off a corner of toast. “You warn me about a great deal of things, what are you talking about this time?”

“You poke and poke and I told you, one of these days Brienne was going to lose her shit and pop you one and aren’t you sorry now?” Tyrion turned to her. “Did it feel good? I bet it did.”

Brienne opened her mouth and shut it with a muffled, hysterical giggle.

“I’ve already taken a photo for Joy,” Margaery piped in. “Jaime, she said to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Such an outpouring of love,” Jaime drawled. “I don’t know what to do with it.”

Sansa regarded Brienne suspiciously, but didn’t offer her opinion; Brienne figured they’d be having a conversation before long.

Renly came in just as everyone stopped maligning Jaime for his foolishness, visibly startled and asked, “What in the damn hells happened to you?”

Jaime sighed -- happily, not that anyone but Brienne noticed -- and said, “Brienne got me. She got me good.”

**Author's Note:**

> [A sequel: Ten Minutes Later](https://samirant.tumblr.com/post/632203479076700160/hi-i-just-finished-reading-backpfei-again-it)
> 
> And [The Saga of Backpfeifengesicht](https://samirant.tumblr.com/post/627198071338647552/the-saga-of-backpfeifengesicht) aka how the hell did I manage to write this story?


End file.
